


maps.

by mifan



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Rain, he also loves bubble tea, i've given you fair warning, inaccurate college, nong is a baby, side dish: zhangjun, unrealistcally wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mifan/pseuds/mifan
Summary: Cai Xukun needs to find his way out of the past. Chen Linong is a thousand miles away from home. Their maps are each other, and it works.
Relationships: Cai Xukun/Chen Linong, minor Lin Yanjun/You Zhangjing - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	maps.

**Author's Note:**

> i actually started this all the way back in december, finished sometime in march, and held off until now to publish it. why? no fucking clue.
> 
>  _anyway_ , i'd just like to preface all this with the fact that i got inspired to write this fic because a while back linong got a partnership with gaode maps, which is one of the most used chinese gps apps. he had his own voice pack you could buy and download, which i thought was absolutely adorable. so this idea was born - xukun uses linong's voice pack, linong is flustered about it. but then that turned into something more and the next thing you know i have forty pages. 
> 
> but that's a struggle we all share, isn't it?
> 
> you talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/maangoism) about it! <3
> 
> oh, and extra note: linong rooming w jieqiong was inspired by _hi! housemate_ , a variety show they both starred on! watch it it's cute <3

Eight-thirty lectures do not agree with Cai Xukun. 

Most of the keeners in the class take their seats in a wide arc around him, reluctant to be seen near such a notorious slacker. _As if it would help them_ , he thinks, scanning the room blearily through half-lidded eyes. At the end of the day, he would walk out of this class with an A all the same. 

He bunches his sweater up into a pile, arranges it on the little writing desk connected to his seat, buries his face in it, and dozes off.

“Hey.” A voice punctures his oblivion. Cai Xukun lifts his head out of his makeshift pillow and turns to the left to see an unfamiliar kid grinning awkwardly from the seat next to him. He glances around quickly. _No wonder._ The lecture hall is essentially full. 

“What’s up?”

“I missed the first few days of term because of some family things,” the boy explains. Xukun blinks double. The kid’s _face_ , with thin, downturned eyes and a bright white smile, might be unfamiliar, but he would recognize that _voice_ anywhere. Hell, it took him to school on his first day. “I was wondering if I could borrow some notes-” 

“You’re the voice of my GPS,” Xukun blurts out, effectively cutting him off.

The boy looks at him, eyes widening, before mouthing something that looks like _fuck_. “I think you’re mistaken,” he says quickly. “I’ve heard that before.” 

Xukun raises an eyebrow. “Really.” 

“Yes!” The kid nods earnestly. “See, I’m Taiwanese, too. A lot of people say that the accent makes our voices hard to distinguish…” 

Xukun snorts. _Well, that’s bullshit._ “Alright, that’s enough. You don’t have to explain. I won’t be telling anyone.” 

“Look,” the boy protests, “there’s nothing to tell! I’m really not-” 

Xukun holds up a hand. “Like I said, your secret’s safe with me. Not that I see why it’s such a big deal.” 

The boy runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “You promise?” he finally acquiesces. 

“Promise,” Xukun drawls. “I’ll even link pinkies with you, if that’s what you want.” 

The kid looks as if he’s seriously considering before extending a hand. “I’m Chen Linong.” 

“Cai Xukun.” He takes the hand and shakes it twice. “Now, explain to me what a freshman is doing in a second-year course?” 

“Oh, I’m a second year,” Linong clarifies. “I transferred over here this semester.”

Xukun looks the guy up and down. He’s tall and lanky but by his face he looks like he could still be in high school. “You can’t be older than seventeen.” 

“I _am_ seventeen.” 

“Seventeen, a second year, and a GPS?” 

Linong’s eyes dart around nervously. “For the last time, can we drop it about the GPS?” 

* * *

When no one else approaches him that day, he takes it to mean that no one overheard their conversation, and that Cai Xukun kept his word. Chen Linong leaves campus on the 9 as soon as his last class of the day is over. 

His phone pings once, twice, three times as he gets off the bus a short distance away from where he is staying. He opens the WeChat notification as he walks— _Hey Map Boy, you asked for notes._

Linong spots two attachments below, hastily mobile-scanned pages of… the course outline. 

_Does this guy seriously not have any notes? After a week of lectures?_

He should’ve known. The guy probably slept through every class. 

Linong sighs and types, _Please don’t call me Map Boy._

* * *

“Are you sure?” Wang Ziyi adds the extra weights, as he requested, carefully. “Never seen you lift this much before.” 

Cai Xukun grips the metal bar tightly. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t. Something wrong with trying?” 

“No.” Ziyi hums. “You’ve seemed… on edge. Just wondering if everything’s alright.” 

“Everything’s fine.” 

“Zhengting?” 

“Yeah.” Xukun lifts the weights off their stand and lowers the bar to his chest, pushes. It _is_ too heavy. Ziyi quickly swoops in, diligent spotter that he is, and helps him rest the weights back on the stand. “I miss him, Ziyi.”

“We all do,” Ziyi says, “but you have to move on.” 

“Easier said than done.” 

Xukun takes the extra weights off and slips back under the bar. He resumes his lifting as Ziyi looks on. 

“You know, let’s talk about something else,” he says abruptly. “There’s a cute new transfer in my econ class.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” He exhales loudly as he pushes the bar up. “Taiwanese. Funny little accent.” 

“Like your GPS?” Ziyi asks, jokingly. 

Xukun almost laughs. “Exactly like my GPS.”

“So, tell me a little bit more about him,” Ziyi says. “You interested?” 

_Not so soon after Zhengting_ , Xukun thinks, but doesn’t say it. “Nah. He was the first person to sit next to me in a while, that’s all.” 

Ziyi chuckles. “Well maybe you can make this one stay. Provided he doesn’t expect you to take notes.” 

“Oh, he asked me for notes,” Xukun says wryly. “If he still sits with me tomorrow, he’s a keeper.”

* * *

Chen Linong arrives to class the following morning to find that, like the day before, Cai Xukun is sleeping, his face buried into a sweater. He slips into the seat next to him quietly and gets set up for lecture. 

Xukun raises his head groggily, running a hand through his hair. Linong notices that it’s dyed a light shade of brown. “Morning.” 

“Good morning,” Linong replies. He pries one cup out of his drink tray and sets it on Xukun’s desk. “Wasn’t sure how you like your coffee but thought you could use one.”

The corners of Xukun’s full lips lift slightly. “Aw. You didn’t need to.” He raises the cup to his lips, takes a sip. “Spot on.” 

“One cream, one sugar. Noted.” Linong leans back in his seat. “Could I ask you about the notes you sent me yesterday?” 

“Let me guess, they weren’t notes,” Xukun says dryly. “Sorry, buddy, but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really take notes.” 

_Why do you even come to class?_ Linong wants to ask, but decides against making enemies on his second day. “It’s okay, I’ll ask someone else.” 

He begins to stand, but Cai Xukun holds up a hand. “I can help you out, either way. I might not take notes or stay awake for class, but I promise, I know what I’m doing.” 

Linong is skeptical, but there is really no good way to say no to that, so he sits back down. 

“Look, lecture will start soon and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss this,” Xukun tells him. “How about we meet after your last class at the campus library?” 

“Okay,” Linong says slowly. “My last class ends at 3:30 today.” 

“Perfect, because mine ends at three.” Xukun reaches across the space in between them and claps him on the shoulder. “See you then.”

* * *

Chen Linong shows up. It surprises Cai Xukun, just a little bit, because normally kids like Chen Linong are not his crowd. They don’t seem to like him much, and it’s easy to see why. Bare minimum attendance, sleeping through half the classes he actually attends, _no notes_ —it was a recipe to keep people like Chen Linong away.

“Hey,” Xukun greets him with a wave and pulls out a chair at the table for him to sit down. Linong does. “How was your day?” 

The question seems to take the kid aback, for whatever reason. “Okay,” Linong says, after a pause. “What about you?” 

“Chipper.” Xukun doesn’t look up from his textbook. “So, how can I help you?” 

Linong pulls out his books. “I just wanted to catch up on what I missed.”

“If it makes you feel better, you really didn’t miss all that much,” Xukun saus, flipping a page. The annotations from the previous owner were very neat, and make it incredibly obvious who (him) had followed up in untidy scrawl. “The prof spent the first few days reviewing material from the prereq. If you remember things from last year, you’ll be fine.” 

“I think a little bit of review wouldn’t hurt,” says Linong. There’s an awkward silence that Xukun doesn’t attempt to address. “Say, are you interested in a study group?” 

Xukun raises his eyebrows. He didn’t really do study _groups_ , and isn’t about to start now, but something about the fact that Chen Linong asked makes him want to inquire further. 

“Maybe,” he says. “You found one quick, Map Boy.” 

“Don’t call me Map Boy,” Linong grumbles, “but there were some upper years that started one. Maybe they’re looking for freshmen and sophomores to mentor, I don’t know. My roommate is one of the people who started it, though, and he’s wondering if people are interested.”

Xukun’s mouth twists. Ziyi is a part of several study groups, and so is Zhou Rui; hell, this might even have to do with one of them. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “Who’s in it?” 

“Like I said, my roommate, Lin Yanjun,” Linong says. “My other roommates are going to join, too. And I’m guessing Yanjun’s friends.” 

“Sounds like a crowd,” Xukun muses. Lin Yanjun, fourth year, does something or other with the SU, probably, given that Xukun recognizes the name. “Like I said, I’ll give it some thought. Now, you were talking about review?” 

* * *

Chen Linong returns to the home he shares with three other people to find Lin Yanjun stretched out languidly on the couch with _Candide_ in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. Sunlight makes his dyed hair look like molten silver. You Zhangjing is leaning into his shoulder and poring over stacks of sheet music, occasionally humming to himself. Somehow, with Cheng Xiao and Zhou Jieqiong gone from the apartment, Linong feels as if he’s walked in on something very intimate. 

Thankfully, Zhangjing chirps his name and waves him over with a wide grin on his face. With his rabbit teeth and bouncy, chocolate brown curls, it’s extremely endearing. 

Zhangjing has always had a knack for making people feel comfortable; perhaps that’s why Yanjun likes him so much, enough that Linong on his first night living here witnessed Yanjun rush out at midnight because he’d heard that Zhangjing had gotten stuck on the road after his bus broke down. 

“How has your day been?” he asks him, putting down his papers. Yanjun does the same, closing his book and setting his mug down on the low coffee table. “Catching up alright?” 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Guy in my econ class is helping me with that, and I haven’t had much trouble with anything else.” He turns to Yanjun. “I invited him to your study group. You’re still looking for more people?” 

Yanjun raises his eyebrows incredulously. It’s an incredibly attractive gesture, what with Lin Yanjun’s perfect proportions, but Linong tries not to focus too much on that. 

“Chen Linong, you know I’m an English major, right?” he says. “And this guy in your econ class studies…?” 

Linong freezes. He has no idea what Cai Xukun majors in, but if he’s in a second year economics class, Linong has a sneaking suspicion it isn’t English. 

To his relief, Yanjun just laughs. “It’s no big deal if he still wants to come,” he says, “but just tell him to be prepared to read some classics.” 

Linong pulls out his cell phone and finds Cai Xukun’s contact in WeChat. _Sorry. My roommate is an English major. Not sure if you’re still interested in the study group._

“Say, Linong,” Yanjun is saying now, “you were telling me you’re having some trouble making ends meet?” 

“What with my grandpa’s medical bills, yeah,” he agrees, and adds quickly, “You’ve already done so much for me, so-” 

Yanjun waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I was wondering if you wanted a job, is all.” 

Linong’s eyes light up. “A job?”

“Yeah,” says Yanjun. “Girl at my cafe just quit. Said something about moving. So now they’re hiring, but they’re taking referrals first. Since I’ve worked there for a few years now, the owner asked me.”

“Yanjun, are you sure?”

Yanjun smiles, deep dimples showing. “Yeah, you in?” 

* * *

_Sure. I like books._

As soon as Xukun sends the text, he wonders what’s wrong with him. Evidently, Zhou Rui thinks the same, because he leans over his shoulder and scoffs. 

“You into him?” he asks.

Xukun shakes his head. “A funny kid, is all.” 

Zhou Rui walks around him and sits down on the floor, cross-legged with his guitar in his lap. “You sure about that? An English study group? In case you’ve forgotten, you study civil eng.” He strums a chord. “Or is it Lin Yanjun you’re going for? He’s hot, but sorry to burst your bubble—the guy’s taken.” 

“For the last time, I am _not_.” Xukun pulls the guitar out of his roommate’s grasp and makes an exasperated noise on it. “I just need something to do.” 

He strums the guitar a few times as if it helps him prove his point. Zhou Rui only squints at him before taking the instrument back. 

“If you really need something to do, we should go down to the studio,” Zhou Rui says, standing. He starts packing the guitar into its case. “Songs don’t write themselves.” 

Xukun chuckles and slips a hoodie over his head. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

* * *

The owner of the cafe, Zhang Yixing, hires him on the spot. Linong hears him, a handsome man who looks hardly any older than they do, say to Yanjun, aside, “This kid seems like he’d be great at getting people to like him.”

Yanjun laughs. “Trust me, he is.” He turns to Linong. “You can probably fill in your paperwork tonight. But if you’re not busy now, I can give you a bit of an orientation.”

Linong checks his watch. He doesn’t have class until one today, and it’s only ten. “Sounds good to me.” 

Yanjun walks behind the counter and beckons for Linong to follow him into a back room. There are aprons hanging on a row of hooks on the wall, and Yanjun grabs one and puts it on in one fluid motion. In a white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and a black apron, Lin Yanjun looks as if he’s just walked out of a romance movie. _There must be people who come here just for him_ , Linong speculates, and judging by the looks they get when they walk back out, he isn’t wrong. 

“Have you ever made a coffee before, Linong?” Yanjun asks him. Linong shakes his head. “Okay, you can make one right now.” 

“He needs to wear an apron,” comes another voice. The young man at the cash register turns to them in admonishment, but his stern expression melts away quickly into a welcoming smile. “Hey. I’m Qiu Zhixie. I’ve worked here longer than Lin Yanjun so I know better.” 

“I’m Chen Linong,” he says politely. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” Zhixie shakes his hand. Something about him reminds Linong of Zhangjing, a little bit—maybe it’s the curly hair or large front teeth. “But put on an apron. Then I’ll let you make Lin Chaoze’s order.”

“Oh, I get the GPS boy,” says a kid standing at the counter. Linong thinks he’s met him once before, at Yanjun’s apartment—on the shorter side, with a heart-shaped smile and eyes that smile, too. “It’s okay, I won’t blame you if you mess up.” 

“Don’t call him GPS boy,” Yanjun says, on Linong’s behalf. “It makes him uncomfortable.” 

Linong just grins sheepishly and takes the apron Zhixie hands over, grateful that Chaoze doesn’t ask.

As Yanjun shows him how to operate the coffee maker others, both his new coworkers and regular customers, introduce themselves casually. Aside from Zhixie and Yanjun, he is also working with a girl named Qiang Dongyue. Among the regulars who are good friends with the employees, there are Lin Chaoze, Bei Honglin, and Jiang Jingzuo, although Yanjun and Zhixie tell him that there are a few more that they want him to meet eventually. 

At eleven, You Zhangjing walks into the store and comes straight around the counter for Lin Yanjun, wrapping his arms around Yanjun’s waist from behind, and not a single person in the establishment bats an eye.

 _It’s like they all know one another_ , Linong thinks. _They’re like family._

* * *

**CHEN LINONG**

_Yesterday at 4:56 PM_

**CHEN LINONG.** _Sorry. My roommate is an English major.  
_ **CHEN LINONG.** _Not sure if you’re still interested in the study group._

 **ME.** _Sure,_ __I_ like books. _

_12:23 PM_

**CHEN LINONG.** _OK, they meet on_ _Friday_ _s at the library, on the second floor.  
_**CHEN LINONG.** _That would be_ _today_ _, I guess.  
_**CHEN LINONG.** _At 7. Can you make it?_

 **ME.** _Yup,_ _see you then._

Xukun looks through the text messages as he waits. God, why do they text like they’re writing emails to each other? 

He is sitting at one of the empty tables on the second floor of the library, as directed. He has a good view of the stairs so he’d see Linong approach when he arrives with his roommate. It’s only 6:45. 

Five minutes later he sees a familiar helmet of black hair rise over the edge of the stairs, followed by a radiant smile that both inexplicably lifts Xukun’s spirits and puzzles him. What is there to be so happy about? 

Chen Linong is with three others: an exceedingly handsome young man with dyed silver hair and deep dimples, a shorter boy with chocolate brown curls and playful features, and a guy with light brown hair and curved eyes when he smiles. When he spots Xukun, he waves and quickly walks over. 

“You came,” he says, seeming almost surprised. 

Xukun shrugs. “It’s not like I have much else to do, anyway.” He doesn’t mention the party Yue Yue is throwing. With free drinks. 

“Fair.” Linong offers him a hand up. “Here, let me introduce you.”

Xukun takes the hand and stands, following Linong to the group he arrived with. “This is my classmate, Cai Xukun,” he tells them. “Xukun, this is You Zhangjing, Lin Yanjun, and Bei Honglin.”

He gestures to each of them in turn. Xukun nods. “Nice to meet you guys.” 

“Likewise,” says the silver-haired one, Lin Yanjun. Zhou Rui was right—he _is_ hot. And judging by their proximity, the one by whom he’s _taken_ is You Zhangjing. An odd-looking pair, Xukun thinks. “Anyway, we have a meeting room over there; we’re expecting a few more.” 

Lin Yanjun leads them into the meeting room tucked away in a corner of the second floor. One wall is glass, and for some reason that makes Xukun more uncomfortable than just sitting out in the open. 

“Okay, so, let’s get to know each other a bit while we wait for the others,” Yanjun prompts, after they’re all seated around the table. “I’m Lin Yanjun, I’m in my fourth year of English.” 

He nudges the guy beside him. You Zhangjing gives everyone a toothy grin. “I’m You Zhangjing, currently doing my MMus in Performance. If you’re wondering why I’m here, I just want to be.” 

So that’s why the name’s familiar; he’s in Zhou Rui’s program. Xukun must’ve heard his roommate bring him up at some point in time. 

“And I’m Bei Honglin,” says the last guy. “I’m in English, like Yanjun. Third year.” 

“Cai Xukun, second year,” he follows their example. “Civil Engineering.” 

Yanjun nods and shoots Linong a sidelong glance down the table. Something passes between them and Xukun thinks it’s about him. “Civil Engineering,” he repeats. “You must really like reading, if you’re here.” 

“Yeah,” says Xukun, utterly unconvincingly. It’s not that he dislikes reading, it really isn’t; there just always seems to be something else to do. 

Linong introduces himself, too, despite being the only one Xukun actually knew. “I’m Chen Linong. Second year, Finance.” 

_Finance_ . He had no idea. It doesn’t seem like Linong at all, but on second thought, it makes sense. Linong is such a stereotypical “good kid.” _Of course_ he would study finance. 

_You were a stereotypical “good kid,”_ _too_ , a voice reminds him. _You still are. So, who are you to judge?_

Someone knocks on the glass walls. A pale girl with large front teeth and see-through bangs stands slightly awkwardly outside, accompanied by a tall boy with dimples almost as deep as Lin Yanjun’s. 

“Well, there’s Cheng Xiao and Jeffrey,” says You Zhangjing, beaming. The two let themselves into the room and perform introductions quickly. Xukun learns that Cheng Xiao is a second-year, like him, here on a gymnastics scholarship. Jeffrey is third-year, studying Finance like Linong but here for an English study group because he plans to go abroad. 

_I’m pretty sure this isn’t how study groups work_ , Xukun thinks, but he doesn’t question it. After all, his roommate majors in Performance and tutors first-year Math students weekly. _Crazy shit happens here all the time._

* * *

  
  


**CAI XUKUN**

_Yesterday at 10:09 PM_

**ME.** _How_ _did you find the study group_  
**ME.** _Sorry_ _if it bored you_

_12:11 AM_

**CAI XUKUN.** _don’t worry, i liked it :)_

 **ME.** _Oh, phew_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _but I hope you don’t mind if i skip next time  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _i’d rather my_ _friday_ _nights be free_

 **ME.** _I’m sorry it’s at an inconvenient time_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _don’t apologize  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _it’s not your fault lol  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _tell yanjun it was a good time though_   
**CAI XUKUN.** _i’m just usually busy on_ _fridays_

 **ME.** _I’ll let him know!_

Chen Linong feels guilty anyway. So guilty, in fact, that he lies awake at nearly two in the morning wondering if it was wrong to invite Cai Xukun, if he could’ve done something to make him more comfortable, and why the hell he cares so much. Xukun already told him that he thought it was fine—Linong just _has_ to doubt himself. 

He opens WeChat again and wonders if Xukun’s seen the message yet. And if it’s weird to send him another one because he just can’t sleep. Whether it’s from his residual guilt or from the coffee he drank at six in the afternoon, he doesn’t know; he’s always been sensitive to caffeine. 

**CAI XUKUN**

_1:45 AM_

**ME.** _Hey_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _hey  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _what’s up?_

 **ME.** _Nothing much, can’t sleep haha_

Linong almost recalls the message but stops when he sees that Xukun’s typing. 

**CAI XUKUN.** _it’s not that late yet_

 **ME.** _Not that late????  
_ **ME.** _It’s almost 2_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _oh right, you’re a good kid aren’t you_

 **ME.** _???_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _nvm  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _what’s on your mind_

Linong hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. There are a lot of things, and none of them really Cai Xukun’s business. But he was the one who reached out first, in a moment of impulse, and the damage has been done—he can lie or divulge. 

**ME.** _I don’t know, to be honest  
_ **ME.** _Just getting used to things, I guess  
_ **ME.** _School and such_

It’s truthful enough, he decides. Xukun can know this much about him if they’re going to be spending the rest of the semester sitting next to each other. 

**CAI XUKUN.** _oh, i get it  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _it can be hard to adjust  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _have you considered joining some clubs?  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _or going to some events? meeting some new people?_

 **ME.** _Like what?_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _i’m part of a few clubs if you’re interested  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _they’re all music-related though if you’re into that_

 **ME.** _Sure, tell me about them on_ _Monday_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _sure thing  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _see you  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _get some sleep_

After some debate, Linong scrolls through his sticker gallery and finds an animated rabbit captioned with “good night” and sends it to their conversation. He briefly wonders if it was a bad choice, until Xukun texts back a snoring corgi and he finds the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in spite of himself. 

He sets his phone down on the nightstand and stares at the ceiling. He’s lucky, he decides, to have a room as nice as this one, and roommates as nice as Yanjun and Jieqiong and Cheng Xiao. And if he thinks about it, he’s lucky to have someone like Cai Xukun. 

* * *

After a little bit of convincing, Xukun manages to get Linong to one club—dance. There’s a studio on campus in the Performing Arts building given over to their use every Tuesday at 5:00 pm, and the two of them head there together after both their classes are finished for the afternoon. 

“So, how’d you get into dancing?” Linong asks as they walk. The kid wears the same things almost every day, Xukun notices: a grey hoodie with sweatpants, and occasionally glasses. 

Xukun should have seen the question coming but he trips up anyway, even though the answer is also constantly hovering in his mind. “I, um, just kind of did,” he says, then curses himself internally. “Actually, scratch that. A friend got me hooked.” 

Linong doesn’t question it. “What kind of dance is it?” 

“Urban and hip-hop, mostly,” Xukun answers. “But we dabble in all sorts of things.” 

When they arrive, most members of the club are already present. Many of them are studying dance professionally, and befitting of that, they stretch out their limbs professionally in the corners and in front of the mirrors that line the walls of the studio. 

“You’ve been the latest for three meetings, Cai Xukun,” Ding Zeren hollers, from where he is tying his shoelaces. Zeren is a second-year, like him, but studying Communications. He’d been tight with Zhengting, too; that’s how they got somewhat close. “Food’s on you today.” 

“I’m broke,” he grumbles, but he would fork over the money later anyway. The members of the club present, plus Ziyi (who dances with another club) and Zhou Rui (who can’t dance to save his life, let alone for fun), had been his strongest support system in the year since Zhu Zhengting’s passing, and in so many ways they still are. The least he could do is buy them snacks. 

“Who’s that with you?” asks Yu Mingjun. “We’re getting lots of new members.” 

“This is Chen Linong,” Xukun introduces him. “He’s a second-year, Finance.” 

“Oh, I know you,” Lin Chaoze pipes up, walking over. God, Xukun admires him as a dancer. Their little association is loose and unorganized, but if anyone could be considered the leader, if anyone could keep them all in check in Zhengting’s absence, it’s Lin Chaoze. “Yanjun’s roommate. And you made me a coffee.” 

“Yeah,” says Linong good-naturedly. “Was the coffee okay?” 

Chaoze laughs. “Good enough for your first try,” he says. “How’re you liking the job?” 

Xukun looks at Linong. “Where do you work?” 

“The Banana Cafe,” Chaoze says proudly for him. “Now you have no excuse not to go there, Cai Xukun. I promise you, it’s better than whatever you’ve been drinking.” 

“Doubt it.” Xukun grins. He makes eye contact with Linong in the mirror wall and is reassured to find that he doesn’t seem nervous or bored or disappointed. “Shall we get practicing?” 

Chaoze claps his hands together. “That’s a good idea.” He hollers at the other members of the team, “Put on the music! We’re warming up together!” 

As a group, they chorus, “Yes, Teacher Lin!” Xukun has Linong copy the movements next to him as they run through warm-up exercises and pulls him to the side of the room to watch when the first group practices to a loud, energetic song ( _EOEO,_ is it?). 

“What do you think?” Xukun asks Linong. The outcome of this question seems more important than it should. “Liking it so far?” 

Linong nods. “Yeah. You’re all such good dancers.” 

Xukun snorts. “Some of these kids are professionals. Me? Not so much.” 

“I’ve never danced before,” says Linong. “Are you sure this is the right place for me to learn?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Xukun inclines his head. “This is the perfect place for you to learn. Chaoze’s a great teacher, you know. He teaches at a dance studio part-time.”

Chaoze walks over, taking a swig of water. “That’s right. If you want to learn, we’d be more than glad to help you.” 

Xukun grins. “So, what do you say? You’re in?” 

Linong’s silent for a moment before breaking into a radiant smile. “Yes, why not?” 

* * *

“Going to the library again?” Yanjun asks Linong as he heads for the door. He doesn’t look up from a document he’s typing in furiously at the kitchen table. For once, You Zhangjing isn’t with him, probably because they’d never get any work done if they’re together. 

“Yeah,” Linong says. In the past couple months, he’s fallen into something of a routine, rotating between home, his classes, the cafe, the studio, and the library. Each of these places have become associated with different people—he sees Lin Yanjun, Cheng Xiao, and Zhou Jieqiong at home, Bei Honglin and Qiu Zhixie at the cafe, Lin Chaoze and Ding Zeren at the studio, and the library is reserved for Cai Xukun. 

They only share the one economics class, yet they find themselves meeting up to study more often than makes sense. They each do their own thing, but it makes it more fun to do it together, he guesses.

“Okay, get me a coffee on the way back, will you?” Yanjun leans back from his computer and fishes a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “A large half-mocha.” 

“It’ll be so late,” says Linong incredulously. “You sure you want coffee at ten?” 

Yanjun snorts. “You baby. I need to finish this paper tonight, and you want me to do it without coffee? Just take my money and go.” 

Linong sighs. “It’s okay, I’ll get one for you.”

He leaves the apartment to the sound of Yanjun’s laughs. 

At the library, Cai Xukun is already there, as he tends to be. The boy in question is bent over a huge textbook with headphones in and eyebrows knit, taking notes intensely 

Linong sits down across from him. “Maybe if you didn’t sleep in class.” 

Xukun looks up at him and takes out his headphones, lips parting in a languid smile. “Lectures don’t work for everyone, Map Boy.” 

The nickname still appears from time to time, and Linong’s given up on policing it. No one has really approached him about it, so he’s happy to let it rest in the past and to let Xukun poke fun at it once in a while.

They study in silence for a time, just two people in a sea of students who, one like the other, are furiously working for a degree they aren’t sure they want or a career they don’t think they’d like. Finance would never have been Linong’s first choice but sometimes there isn’t really a choice. And even if he had a choice, or if he could choose again now—

He wouldn’t know.

Cai Xukun sets down his pen and locks both hands together, reaching over his head in a stretch. “God. I’m so done.” 

Linong finishes his sentence and does the same. “Take a break?”

“Yeah.” Xukun fishes around in his bag and pulls out a couple of granola bars, hands one to Linong, who takes it, practiced. “Hey, wanna go to a party tomorrow?” 

“A party?” Linong repeats. He’s never been to a party before, and tomorrow is Friday. Yanjun’s study group. “What kind of party?” 

Xukun raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that there are more kinds of parties,” he says. Then, he grins. “You’ve never been to one before, have you?” 

Inexplicably, Linong could feel heat creep up his neck. “No,” he admits. 

Xukun just laughs. “Typical. But what do you say? Wanna go to one?” 

“Who’s going to be there?” 

“It’s hosted by Qin Fen,” says Xukun. “He’s a grad student; doing an MBA, I think. You can also expect Lin Chaoze to be there, probably Lu Dinghao, too? Oh, and Ding Zeren will definitely be there, probably with his boyfriend—” 

Linong cuts him off with the most important question: “Will there be drinks?” 

“Of course there’ll be drinks.” Xukun takes one look at him and laughs again. “Oh, come on. You turned eighteen last month.” 

Linong wonders if he should tell Xukun that he’s never drank before, at the risk of seeming extremely uncool. But judging by his smug expression, Xukun already knows that.

“Hey, it’ll be fun,” he says reassuringly. “You’ve gotta experience a party sooner or later, regardless of what kind of student you are. And if you’re worried about skipping out on Lin Yanjun, just let him know you’re going to a party. He’ll get it.” 

That’s the least of Linong’s worries, but he nods along. Xukun seems to take this for an agreement and whips out his phone. 

“I’ll let Qin Fen know I’m bringing you,” he says. “Don’t worry, he’ll look after you really well if I tell him it’s your first. Him and Lao Han.” 

“Lao Han?” Linong is so full of questions he doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“Han Mubo,” replies Xukun, texting. “He’s Qin Fen’s boyfriend. Word is they’re gonna get engaged soon.” 

Linong files the gossip away and looks across the table at Xukun, who wears the ghost of a smile on his face as he types away. _A party, huh?_ He wonders what his mother would think of that; probably not highly. But he’s worked and studied hard these past three months. Plus, they just got past midterms not too long ago—he deserves to celebrate, doesn’t he? 

He leans in, bracing his elbows on the table, and asks, “So, how are we getting there?” 

* * *

Xukun pulls up to the address Linong had texted him. It’s a fairly new building, and judging by its design and location, it must be pricey to live here—Linong’s parents must either be well-to-do or he’s the recipient of a _very_ handsome scholarship that he’s never mentioned. Linong’s smart, though—the kid skipped a grade, if that’s any indicator—so Xukun wouldn’t put it past him.

 _Here,_ Xukun texts. A moment later, WeChat _ping_ s with Linong’s reply: _Coming!_ Xukun leans back in his seat with arms crossed, expectant. 

A couple minutes pass and Xukun’s getting impatient when the glass doors to the apartment complex swing wide open and out steps Chen Linong, in ripped blue jeans and a striped shirt, his hair seeming slightly more styled than usual. Xukun doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Linong is tugging at the handle on the door.

Linong slides into shotgun, grinning nervously. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” says Xukun, smiling back. “Did Lin Yanjun dress you?” 

Linong pouts. “I have nice clothes, too, you know.” 

“I don’t.” Xukun puts his phone up on its stand with the GPS app open and hits _Start_. “You never wear them. How should I?” 

Linong opens his mouth to protest at the same time his voice echoes through the speakers of Xukun’s car. _“Starting route to 112 10 11th Avenue.”_

“Oh my God, no.” Linong buries his face in his hands, the tips of his ears bright red. “Did you have to?” 

“No, I know where Qin Fen lives,” Xukun says smugly. “Just teasing you.” 

Linong glares at him. “Turn it off.” 

“No.” Xukun sticks out his tongue and pulls the clutch into drive. “I think it’s cute.” 

Linong turns redder, if possible, as the GPS gives out another round of instructions in his voice. Having enough, he snatches Xukun’s phone off the stand and ends the navigation as Xukun laughs. 

They speed a little bit to Qin Fen’s house. Judging by the number of cars lining the street, the party has already started by the time they arrive. When Xukun pulls his car into a tiny space between the new vehicle he recognizes as Lin Chaoze’s and the beat-up car belonging to Ding Zeren, he suddenly feels as if he’s another person. 

In high school, Zhu Zhengting had been the one to show Xukun parties, with pulsing lights and drunken laughs and the press of bodies up against one another as they all watch one kid take as many shots as he can. Zhengting had been the one to take Xukun to parties he would never have been invited to, to show him off to his friends, the older, cooler crowd. 

In a strange, dreamlike way, Cai Xukun has become Zhu Zhengting as he walks up the driveway with Chen Linong tailing him closely, eager and apprehensive all at the same time. The only difference is that he and Linong are not so young and crazy and in love, and _God_ , he almost freezes in his tracks when he thinks that neither he nor Linong are dead. 

The front door is unlocked and when they walk in Xukun is almost immediately greeted by a giddy Ding Zeren with a giggly Zhou Yanchen in tow. They aren’t drunk yet but judging by the beer cans in their hands they intend to be. 

“Oh, you brought Linong,” Zeren observes, giving the boy in question a lopsided grin. “Welcome.” 

“Thanks,” Linong says nervously. He looks to Xukun. “What do we do?” 

Xukun takes off his shoes and forces a smile he thinks is reassuring. "Well, we go inside.” 

* * *

Chen Linong is sitting at a table and Cai Xukun is beside him. He knows that much. Somewhere, people are yelling and laughing and cussing and bouncing ping pong balls into red plastic cups and he thinks that at some point tonight, he’s done it, too. It was fun but not as fun as sitting. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been by the time Xukun slips out of his chair and falls to the floor. Linong makes a fumbling attempt at catching him and misses completely. 

“Geez, you guys are sloshed, aren’t you?” 

Linong hears a new voice behind him. He turns around, and through bleary eyes he spots a pale young man dressed all in black, from his leather jacket to his jeans, moving through the haze towards them. He looks familiar, or at least comforting—his hair is swept back into a small bun and the smile on his face is gentle, if slightly exasperated. 

“I didn’t drink that much,” he mumbles, but the words are like sludge in his mouth. He doesn’t know why, but he asks, “Did you?” 

The man’s mouth takes a wry twist. “I don’t really drink,” he says simply. “But you must be a heavyweight, to drink Xukun under the table like that.” 

Linong follows his line of sight to Xukun, who is lying on the carpet on his side, eyes shut and mouth slightly ajar. “I didn’t drink that much,” Linong repeats. He really didn’t. 

“Okay, bro.” The young man takes a knee and pulls one of Xukun’s arms over his shoulders easily. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Wang Ziyi.” He extends his free hand. “I’m Xukun’s friend.” 

Linong shakes it but his grip is weak. “I’m Chen Linong,” he says. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ziyi replies, chuckling. _You have?_ Linong normally would have asked, but he doesn’t. He’s too fucking drunk for this. “Anyway, wanna get out of here?” 

Linong nods so vigorously it makes him dizzy. Stumbling the entire way, he follows Ziyi out of the house eagerly and across the street to a black sedan. “What about Xukun’s car?” Linong thinks to ask. 

“He and I can come get it later,” Ziyi says casually. “Qin Fen won’t mind.” 

“Okay.” Linong climbs into the back of the car as Ziyi painstakingly straps a completely unaware Xukun into a seatbelt. _How did things come to this?_ Linong wonders. His mother would be so disappointed if she finds out at his first party his one friend got passed out drunk and he got into a stranger’s car… 

“Now, where do you live, kid?” Ziyi asks. “I’ll give you a ride home first.” 

His head blanks. What the fuck is his address? Ziyi gets into the driver’s seat and waits, blessedly patient. 

“I live with Lin Yanjun,” Linong blurts out. _Goddamn, that’s not an address. And it’s not like everyone knows where Yanjun lives_. “Wait, I mean-” 

“Oh, so _you’re_ Lin Yanjun’s new roommate.” In the rearview mirror, Linong can see Ziyi raise his eyebrows. “Okay, sounds good.” 

“You know him?” Linong asks. 

“Yeah,” Ziyi says, starting up the car, “we’re bros.” 

When Ziyi doesn’t make conversation, Linong stays silent for the duration of the trip, slipping in and out of sleep. Xukun topples over from the upright position Ziyi put him in and after the third time Linong gives up on straightening him and just lets him lean on his shoulder.

A few times Linong thinks he hears Xukun say his name. But maybe it was the other name. Zhengting. Or both. He has no idea.

“We’re here,” Ziyi’s soft voice pulls him from the cusp of slumber. “Need some help getting off?” 

“I think I’ll be okay,” Linong says, but in his head he doubts himself. Before he can open the door, though, another person does it for him and he almost falls out of the car. 

“Didn’t take you for a heavy drinker.” Linong looks up from Yanjun’s feet to his face; Yanjun is smiling slightly as if he finds his stupidity somehow endearing. “Thanks, Ziyi.” 

“Not a problem,” says Ziyi. “I better get going. Have another idiot to drive home.” 

“I’m not an idiot,” Linong protests, but it’s not convincing at all when he needs Yanjun’s support to stay upright. “But thank you.” 

“No worries.” Ziyi rolls up his window and drives away.

* * *

Zhou Rui’s cooking is terrible. But Xukun endures it because, honestly, Zhou Rui deserves it for putting up with such a fuck-up—the fuck-up being him. 

“So, wanna tell me why you were so fucking drunk last night?” Zhou Rui prompts from the other side of the table, never one to beat around the bush. “You know, I wonder how Ziyi and I put up with you.” 

Xukun pokes at slightly scorched eggs miserably. His head hurts, he’s thrown up once, and the last thing he wants right now is eggs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Or, you know just as well as I do.” 

Zhou Rui is quiet for a moment, as if contemplating his next words carefully. Xukun braces himself, because he knows that whenever Zhou Rui does this, he’s preparing a hard truth. And he’s right. “This new kid, Chen Linong—he reminds you of Zhu Zhengting, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Xukun admits, and the honesty pains him. 

“So…” 

“So I took him to Qin Fen’s party, and it just reminded me so much of the time Zhengting first took me to a party,” Xukun manages to get out. “Then all I wanted to do was forget about that and, you know, I went _fuck it, the booze is free anyway_.”

Zhou Rui hums. “Well, how did Linong like it?” 

That’s what Xukun wants to know, too; he’d sent a message to Linong over WeChat earlier but he hasn’t received a response yet. Judging by the number of shots Xukun saw him take last night, though, he’s probably just as hungover as he is, if not more, since it was his first party. 

“I don’t know,” says Xukun, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “All I know is that I shouldn’t have gotten wasted and left him to fend for himself.” 

“True, but don’t be so hard on yourself.” Zhou Rui stands up and collects his plate when he notices Xukun hasn’t actually touched the food. “Nothing would’ve happened to him, anyway; it was Qin Fen’s party, wasn’t it? He would never let anything bad happen under his watch, drunk off his ass or not.” 

The words are true enough, but Xukun doesn’t feel reassured. In the few months since they’ve met, Xukun has felt a strange, foreign connection to Chen Linong that he isn’t ready to categorize. Neither is he ready to lose it. 

Zhengting and Linong are polar opposites of one another, yet they share a sort of magnetism that scares Xukun with its potency. 

Zhu Zhengting had always been the centre of attention: bold, mesmerizing, sociable. He was also humorous, helpful, generous. Everyone liked him for it, and Cai Xukun most of all. He loved basking in the excitement of his presence, which somehow never died away despite Xukun seeing him nearly every single day. 

Chen Linong, well, Chen Linong is unobtrusive. That’s the best word for it, Xukun thinks—he draws as little attention to himself as possible and never tries hard to please. Yet, there is something undeniably charming about his unassuming demeanor that Xukun has fallen prey to. 

**WANG ZIYI**

_Today at 9:17 AM_

**WANG ZIYI.** _hey bro just so you know i also drove linong home  
_**WANG ZIYI.** _so there’s no need to worry_

_2:02 PM_

**ME.** _thanks  
_ **ME.** _do you have some time to go get my car with me?_

 **WANG ZIYI.** _sure  
_**WANG ZIYI.** _i’ll come get you when work ends_

 **ME.** _see you in an hour?_

 **WANG ZIYI.** _yup_

* * *

_Did you get home okay?_ Looking at the words gives Linong a headache. Then again, most things do, at present. He curls up more tightly on the sofa and squeezes his eyes shut against the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open blinds, feeling much too sluggish to get up and close them. 

_Yes_ , he texts back, and puts his phone down on the low coffee table. A second later he hears it vibrate but he doesn’t pick it up. Why should he? The guy took him to a party, got hopelessly drunk, and left Linong to get home in the back of a stranger’s sedan. What happened to making sure nothing went wrong? 

A part of him thinks that he should be more lenient towards Xukun. Whatever prompted him to keep knocking back the shots yesterday is bothering him. 

_And why should that matter to you?_ asks a voice in his head. _Because you’re friends with him_ , replies another. Linong doesn’t know how long he just stays there on the couch, sunken into the cushions, thinking. Thinking through his splitting headache about what he remembers of the party, about the drinks, about Cai Xukun, about Cai Xukun, about Cai Xukun. 

About how Cai Xukun looked in the dim lighting, his face flushed with alcohol and full lips parted in a smile. About how Cai Xukun talked after a few drinks too many, too fast and too quiet. About how delicate his name—Linong’s name—sounded on Xukun’s tongue when he whispered it in the quiet of Wang Ziyi’s car. And about—

The other name. _Zhengting_. Xukun has never mentioned anyone named Zhengting before, and neither has Linong ever met anyone with that name. Who is Zhengting? What’s his full name? What’s his relationship to Xukun? A classmate? A friend? A lover? 

Linong shakes his head violently. It’s none of his business. 

His phone vibrates again. This time, Linong reaches out and picks it up, ignoring the throbbing in his temples to read the messages.

**CAI XUKUN**

_Today at 1:20 PM_

**CAI XUKUN.** _Did you get home okay?_

_Today at 2:35 PM_

**ME.** _Yes_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _oh good  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _i’m sorry for what happened_

_Sorry doesn’t cut it_ , Linong wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to blame Xukun, not really. It’s as much Linong’s fault as it’s Xukun’s, if not more. 

**ME.** _It’s all good  
_**ME.** _Don’t worry too much about it._

He wants to add, to ask him, _Who’s Zhengting?_ but he deletes the words immediately after he types them and waits for Xukun to respond instead. 

**CAI XUKUN.** _ok, i’m going to get my car in a bit  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _do you want me to stop by?  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _i’m really sorry_

 **ME.** _Up to you.  
_ **ME.** _But it’s really OK_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _ok, i’ll be over at around 4  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _want me to bring anything?_

 ******ME.** _Bring what?_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _idk, something to eat?_

 **ME.** _Maybe a milk tea_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _milk tea, got it  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _any specific instructions?_

 ******ME.** _No, anything’s fine._

With some difficulty, Linong sits upright and heads to Yanjun’s room, knocking on the door. 

“Come in,” comes Yanjun’s voice. Linong opens the door. “Hey, what’s up? Feeling better?” 

“Yeah,” Linong lies. “Is it okay if Cai Xukun comes over in a bit, ge?”

Yanjun turns around in his swivelling chair, lips pursed. “You sure you want that?” 

Linong hesitates. He wants to say he’s sure but he isn’t. Yanjun sighs. 

“Sit down,” he says, pointing to the bed. “Why don’t we talk about it?” 

Linong does as he’s told and sits down on Yanjun’s bed. Yanjun turns his chair to face him, expression stern and concerned. 

“I don’t know what to think,” Linong says quietly. “On one hand, I’m not really mad about it, you know? On the other hand, it feels like things could’ve been so much worse and I don’t know if this is what I wanted my first party to be like.” He pauses. “Xukun’s right, you know. I’ve always been the ‘good kid.’” 

Yanjun smiles gently. “You’re still a good kid,” he says. “Qin Fen’s parties are tame as far as parties go. But that isn’t the important part, is it?” 

“No,” Linong admits. He doesn’t know—no, he doesn’t _want_ to know what the important part is but he forces himself to say it because Cai Xukun will show up on their doorstep in an hour and he needs to know what to do. “I don’t know how I feel about him, Yanjun.” 

“Are you angry at him?”

“No,” says Linong, almost reluctantly. “I thought I was, but it’s hard to be.” 

Yanjun chuckles. “I get it. I can never be mad at Zhangjing, either.” 

Linong can feel himself redden. “That isn’t how it is.” 

“It’s okay, Linong,” Yanjun says, mirth still in his voice and sounding infinitely wiser than him, despite being only a few years older. Is this what comes with being an English major? “You have plenty of time to figure it out. Worst comes to worst, you two don’t work things out. But you won’t have to see him anymore next semester.” 

The idea isn’t reassuring to Linong at all, but Yanjun’s voice is. “Okay. Thanks, Yanjun-ge.” 

“Not a problem.” Lin Yanjun gets up from his chair and walks over to where Linong is sitting, ruffling his hair. Linong hates how young it makes him feel but he doesn’t push Yanjun away. The proximity is comforting. “Now, why don’t you wash up a little before he gets here? And maybe change out of the clothes you wore yesterday.” 

* * *

Xukun jogs up the stairs nervously with a plastic bag containing two drinks from the cafe a block away, a milk tea with tapioca pearls for Linong and one without for himself. Ziyi follows closely behind him, sipping one of his ridiculously healthy smoothies with protein or something. 

“This is the place?” he asks Ziyi when they reach the top floor and stop in front of a metal door adorned with the number _5_. Ziyi nods. 

“Yeah. Knock.” 

Xukun presses the doorbell with one finger and hears it chime inside the apartment. He swallows his apprehension and hopes Linong is as forgiving in person as he is over text. 

The door opens. It’s Lin Yanjun, dressed in a light blue denim jacket with a dark grey beret resting atop his deliberately messy silver hair. Xukun is momentarily stunned by the image before him until it breaks into a dimpled grin. 

“Great, I was just about to head out,” he says. “Ready to go, Ziyi?” 

“Yeah,” Ziyi says. Xukun looks between the two of them, bewildered. Had they made plans? “Where did Zhangjing say to pick him up?”

“The music building.” Yanjun brushes past Xukun and steps out the door. “See you later, Linong!” he turns and calls, before ushering Xukun into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. 

_What the fuck._

Xukun takes off his shoes at the front door and takes a few tentative steps into the apartment. Judging by the different pairs of shoes on the rack by the wall, there are women living here, too—simple enough to arrange given the size of the place. The apartment Linong shares with Lin Yanjun and an unspecified number of others is a loft, large and spacious and nicely furnished. 

“Hey,” comes a voice. A voice that Xukun would recognize anywhere. Linong emerges from the hall leading presumably to the bedrooms on the first level, dressed simply in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants. A towel hangs around his neck and his dark hair is damp. “Sorry. I was drying my hair.” 

“No worries,” Xukun says nonchalantly, taking a few more steps towards the kitchen area and setting the drinks down on the counter. “Wasn’t sure what you preferred so I got one with pearls and one without.” 

Linong pads over in slippers and reaches into the bag, extracting the cup of milk tea with pearls and a thick, blue plastic straw. “I’ll take this one. Thanks.” 

Xukun watches, anxious, as Linong expertly pierces the plastic film with the straw and takes a sip. _God, what am I so nervous about?_

“It’s good, thanks,” Linong says after he swallows, his lips lifting in a smile that both reassures Xukun and sets his heart to pounding at the same time. “Here, take the other.” 

Xukun moves mechanically, poking a yellow straw through his cup and drinking but not really tasting. He’s never really been a milk tea kind of person. 

“So,” he begins, “I’m really sorry about last night.” 

He got it out. The apology part is easy, he thinks—what’ll be hard is what Linong has to say in return. 

Unsurprisingly, the younger goes silent for a while, stirring at the pearls in his cup with his straw. 

“It’s okay, really,” he says quietly. “I just have a lot of things to sort out. And a lot of questions.” 

Emboldened by the lack of anger in Linong’s response, Xukun leans forward onto the countertop. “Like what, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Linong sighs through his nose. “You know, why don’t we sit down?” 

Xukun lets Linong lead him from the kitchen area and into the living room. They take seats on opposite sides of a glass coffee table, on low beige sofas that are so comfy it makes Xukun a little jealous and a little resentful of the tiny apartment he shares with Zhou Rui a few blocks from campus. 

“This is such a nice place,” he says honestly. “Who else lives here aside from you and Yanjun?”

“This is Zhou Jieqiong’s place,” Linong explains. Xukun vaguely recognizes the same—she’s from another campus dance club, if he isn’t wrong. “Her parents own it and at first it was just her and Cheng Xiao but they thought all the space is kind of a waste if they don’t rent it out, so Yanjun and Kaihao moved in. But then Kaihao graduated and was moving back to Taiwan, so he told me about it and I took his room.” 

“Can’t be cheap.” 

A shadow passes over Linong’s face. “Well, Jieqiong doesn’t ask me for much money,” he says. “They’re really nice about it.” 

Xukun hums. So that’s it—Linong never struck him as from a wealthy family. In fact, sometimes, it feels like the opposite. The preference for the same few outfits, the way he talks about home, the long hours he works at the cafe and, if Xukun thinks about it, the voice pack. 

“That’s good,” he says, inadequately. “So, you said you had questions. Are they about the party?” 

Linong’s expression is hard to read, and when he opens his mouth it startles Xukun some. “They’re about you, actually.”

“Me?” Xukun asks. 

Linong nods. “Yeah.” He looks at Xukun, equal parts solemn and, for some reason, pleading. “I just wanted to know… why did you get so drunk last night? I know it isn’t just because you can’t hold your liquor well.” 

Linong knows something else, too, Xukun realizes—he just isn’t saying it.

He sighs. “Okay, tell me this first—what did I say last night?” 

Linong hesitates, then says, “You said ‘Zhengting.’” 

_Of fucking course_. Xukun closes his eyes momentarily, feeling hot tears well up in them and determined not to let Linong see them. When he opens them again, he blinks a few times to keep them at bay. Ziyi’s right, they’re all right—he needs to move on, and he knows it. It’s just easier said than done. 

Most days, he feels alright. It just sometimes hits him out of nowhere that Zhengting is gone for good, not just on some extended vacation that he promises to tell Xukun all about when he comes back. 

“Xukun?” Linong’s voice prompts softly. He’s worried, Xukun realizes, and it sends a pang of guilt crashing through him. When is he going to stop worrying people? Ziyi and Zhou Rui already have it hard enough—does he really need to involve Linong, too? Sweet, innocent Chen Linong who deserves so much better than to be tangled up in an emotional mess like him? 

“Xukun,” Linong’s voice says again, this time more firmly. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says, drawing in a breath. “Sorry. I guess I should tell you.” He looks up at Linong, who looks back with nothing but well-meaning. “Zhu Zhengting and I were together. Up until a year ago.”

It had been a foggy night and the driver saw neither Zhengting in his little car nor the stop sign in the dark. The worst part wasn’t really the news but more the forty-eight hours waiting outside the ICU hoping for good news. 

“He died in a car accident.” 

He said it. He fucking said it and it’s the first time he’s said something like it since it happened. He never needed to say it before—everyone around him knew Zhengting, too, so he never needed to explain anything to them. And maybe that’s why he never needed to face it like he does now. 

“I’m sorry,” Linong says quietly. His expression is pained and Xukun understands—he understands how hard it is to say something adequate when someone else is suffering. He wasn’t the only one who felt Zhengting’s loss and he’d tried to say the same things to Zhengting’s grieving parents. They hadn’t taken it well. “Do you want a hug?”

The question is slightly surprising but his answer surprises him more. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I do.” 

So Linong gets up and skirts around the coffee table to sit down next to Xukun. He opens his arms and Xukun leans into them, feeling them fold around his shoulders and close tightly.

Tightly enough that he feels like the loose pieces of him would finally stay together, if only for a little while. 

* * *

Long after Xukun’s departure, Linong still sits on the couch where they’d shared that embrace, feeling a phantom warmth against his body and a prevailing numbness in his mind. That’s how Cheng Xiao and Zhou Jieqiong find him when they come back from the mall. Jieqiong tries to ask him what’s wrong but he has no idea how to explain, so they give up and leave him there. A little while after that, Yanjun comes home with the ghost of a smile on his face that falls when he sees him, but he doesn’t bother, either. 

Linong’s okay with that. He needs some time to himself, just to think. 

After they hugged, they had just sat there until Xukun decided it was time for him to go. _Thanks for that_ , he’d told Linong, and took his leave. Linong didn’t try to stop him, despite having a dozen more questions to ask and something to say that he just can’t put into words properly. 

He knows how he feels about Cai Xukun, now. He knows how he feels but not what to do.

He knows what he _wants_ , too—but he doesn’t know if it’s right, or if he’ll regret wanting it. 

They don’t talk for the rest of the weekend. At eight-thirty on Monday morning, Linong walks into class with two cups of coffee like he’s grown accustomed to doing, only to find that Xukun isn’t there. His mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusion— _what if he’s avoiding me?_ —and he taps his foot nervously for the rest of lecture and watches one cup of coffee get cold. 

**CAI XUKUN**

_Today at 9:32 AM_

**ME.** _Hey, where were you today?_

_10:58 AM_

**CAI XUKUN.** _oh sorry  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _should have let you know  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _i’m sick so i stayed home_

Linong feels an unbidden rush of relief that _thank God, it isn’t me_. But then he feels guilty because he shouldn’t feel relieved that Xukun’s sick. 

_**ME.** Oh :(  
_ _**ME.** Do you want me to bring you notes? _

**CAI XUKUN.** _nah, i wouldn’t want to get you sick too  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _and you know i don’t listen in lecture anyway haha_

Linong had felt a brief rush of hope when he’d offered to bring notes, but that had been dashed immediately afterwards. He sets his phone down on the table, next the notes he had ready, feeling oddly dejected. Then his phone buzzes. 

**CAI XUKUN.** _wanna video call?_

He blinks and reads the text over again just in case he had imagined it the first time. The words remain the same. _Yes,_ he wants to scream, and then he confuses himself all over again with how he feels. 

**ME.** _Maybe later?_  
**ME.** _I have another class in a bit and then work in the evening…_

 **CAI XUKUN.** _;(  
_**CAI XUKUN.** _it’s ok then, tty when you have time_

Linong clicks his phone shut and slips it into his bag. There are so many things wrong with how he feels about Cai Xukun that it makes his head spin. He doesn’t want to think about it, not right now, when he has at least three papers due in the next few days and probably more work that slipped his mind between his hangover and the other events of the weekend. But he can’t help himself. 

He can’t help but to be drawn to Cai Xukun, the way he talks, so casually deliberate and with the tone of someone privy to your secrets despite having never told them. He is drawn to Cai Xukun’s actions, too—the gentle teasing and the way he is always telling Linong to do this or do that and _it’ll be fun_. 

Most of all, he is drawn to the way Cai Xukun feels like _home_. As much as he’s uncomfortable right now, Linong thinks that with Cai Xukun he feels as if no one is watching.

That night he decidedly doesn’t call Xukun after work and instead goes straight to bed. He’s been having a bit of trouble sleeping of late but he forces himself to ignore his phone, which sits just within reach on his nightstand. He’ll see him in person in the morning, he thinks. _Take a bit more time._

But as things turn out, Xukun's absent still. Linong shuffles through the day and goes to the studio in the evening and meets with the rest of the dance club. Chaoze gets everyone started on a new routine before pulling Linong aside to a corner of the studio. 

“How’d you like Qin Fen’s party?” he asks, in a falsely cheerful manner that immediately sets off warning bells in Linong’s head. How does Chaoze know that something went wrong? 

“It was fine,” Linong responds cautiously. “Why do you ask?” 

Chaoze drops the pretense. “Word spreads fast around here,” he says, shrugging. “Heard through the grapevine you and Xukun both got wasted—wanted to know if you felt okay given it’s your first time.” 

“I didn’t drink that much,” Linong says defensively, feeling a flush rise up to his cheeks. “And it’s okay. Thanks for worrying, Chaoze.” 

Chaoze beams. “That’s what I’m for. I’m like a mom to all these kids.” 

Linong feels a sudden pang of longing for his own mother, in faraway Taiwan, and suppresses it. “That must be tiring.” 

“Oh, for sure,” he agrees. “But it’s nice, too. I’ve gotten to know everyone really well, and I’m hoping to get to know you better, too.” 

For the lack of anything good to say, Linong just lets Chaoze carry on while he takes a sip from his water bottle. That turns out to be a mistake, because Lin Chaoze’s next words make him choke. 

“Xukun likes you a lot.” 

“What?” Linong splutters. Chaoze takes one look at his expression and the water all over his face and bursts out laughing. 

“You know, I didn’t mean it in _that_ way, but _damn_ do you seem like that’s what you want.” Chaoze cackles as the horror of the situation dawns on Linong. He’s not ready for this yet. “Anyway, what I _meant_ was that he’s been seeming a lot happier nowadays. I don’t know if he’s told you—”

“About Zhengting?” 

A shadow flits over Chaoze’s face briefly. “Yeah, about Zhengting. He took it hardest, because he and Zhengting were… you know.” He makes a little gesture. “We thought he’d never move on, but since he started bringing you around it’s been different. I don’t know if you did something specifically or it’s just the timing, but it’s hard to deny that you two are close now. Closer than I’ve ever been with him, certainly.” 

Linong bites his lower lip. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation, he thinks, but that’s just lying to himself—he wants to have this conversation and he knows it.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, tentatively. 

“It’s hard to describe.” Chaoze puts a finger on his chin. “It’s like a… dynamic the two of you have.” He looks at Linong intently. “You wanted to hear that, didn’t you?” 

Linong feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he whispers. He contemplates whether or not he should tell Chaoze before deciding _fuck it, I’m_ this _obvious already_. “I like him. But I don’t know if I should.” 

Chaoze hums thoughtfully. “What’s not to like? Xukun’s a great guy.” 

This is the part where he would say _it’s not him, it’s me_ , but he bites the words back because they sound really, really stupid. But they’re true, he thinks—it really isn’t Xukun but Linong’s apprehensions. 

He’s never seriously dated someone before and he would hate to fuck it up if he asks Xukun out and the latter miraculously says yes. That’s one reason. The other reason is, well… Linong isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a rebound from a deceased partner. He doesn’t know the implications of that and would rather not find out the hard way. 

“You know,” Chaoze’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “give it some time. Think on it a little more and then decide. Maybe he’ll even make the first move, and then you’ll have nothing to worry about, right?” 

* * *

Before he has much time to think about the decision, Xukun sends the text inviting Linong over to the music building. He has a nice, soundproof recording room rented out under his name for the evening and it would be a good place, he thinks, to have a conversation. 

A few minutes later, Linong responds. 

**CHEN LINONG**

_6:03 PM_

**CHEN LINONG.** _Sure, how do I get there?_

 **ME.** _it’s close to where the dance club meets_  
**ME.** _like a building over  
_**ME.** _you’ll see the sign, it’s hard to miss  
_**ME.** _i’m in room 301_

 **CHEN LINONG.** _OK, I’ll be there in ten_

Xukun clicks his phone shut and turns to his work. After months of labouring over it between classes and after, on weekends and holidays, Xukun’s finally nearing the end of his first musical project—a little collection of songs he’ll call _1_ , he thinks. All that’s left to do is to record the final versions, and then release them. 

_Release_ . The prospect both scares and thrills him. He wonders if that’s how he’d feel if he chose to pursue music going into post-secondary, but he didn’t have the courage to, then. He didn’t have the courage to choose something unconventional and discouraged by his parents and now he has to resort to cobbling his music together in his spare time with the help of his roommate, who is doing what he _wants_ to do. 

“Hey.” A voice startles him out of his thoughts. He would have jumped out of his skin if not for just _how_ familiar the voice is. “Sorry, am I disturbing you?” 

“No, no.” Xukun waves a hand dismissively, attempting to still his pounding heartbeat. “I asked you to come here, after all.” 

With a self-effacing air about him Chen Linong takes a seat next to him in a swivelling stool. He is wearing the same torn jeans he wore to the party and a nice white button-down shirt—a very clean, natural look. There is effort there, Xukun thinks, then questions why he thinks that at all. 

“You never really talk about your music,” Linong says, breaking the silence. “Since when have you been making it?” 

“Since last semester,” he replies. There is an awkward distance between them that didn’t exist before, and not for the first time Xukun thinks he’s fucked up in taking Linong to the party, and telling him about Zhengting. “I wanted to show someone first, I guess. Someone other than Zhou Rui.” 

Linong nods, ever understanding. “I’d love to see it.” 

Xukun hits play. 

* * *

_𝅘𝅥𝅮 Who barged into my life  
_ _And left?_

It’s late and raining when they leave the studio. They hadn’t really talked all that much, like Linong had expected, but he’s content with how he spent the last three hours. Xukun had sat there quietly, humming to himself occasionally as he played with sound mixing and whatever else he needed to do to put a song together. Linong finished an entire assignment between listening to Cai Xukun’s songs and sneaking looks at him while he worked. 

It was comfortable, he thinks—that’s the best way to describe it. In spite of their differences, Chen Linong feels _comfortable_ around Cai Xukun, perhaps more so than he does with anyone else. Sure, they’ve had their share of awkward moments, of unspoken things that hang thickly in the air, but even so Linong has never met someone who makes him feel so close to home despite being a thousand miles away from it. 

Like he does now.

“It’s raining a lot,” Xukun says, frowning as they stand together under the short awning. “Damn, I parked in Lot Two.” 

“We can run,” Linong offers reluctantly. It’s positively pouring—being slightly faster will likely do very little for their hair and clothes. “Or wait it out.” 

“It doesn’t look like it’ll let up anytime soon,” Xukun says, with a strangely grim finality to his words. “You know what, I’ll run and then come here to pick you up.” He dumps his bag in Linong’s arms. “I wouldn’t want this stuff to get soaked.” 

“Hey!” Linong protests. “I’ll just go with you, you don’t need—”

Xukun cuts him off with, “Better one person gets wet than two. Just hang tight!” 

With that, he sprints off into the rain. Instantly, Linong can see his normally voluminous hair flatten against his scalp and the water from the ground soak into his Converse and his jeans as he splashes away. He feels guilty but also so grateful his chest hurts. 

Lot 2 is cheaper than the lots closer to the studio, but quite a bit farther away, so by the time Linong sees Xukun’s car pull up by the curb he’s shivering from standing outside for so long. He dashes out from beneath the awning and gets into the passenger seat quickly enough to avoid being soaked. 

Xukun, on the other hand, is practically sitting in a puddle. His jacket is water-resistant, which is a small blessing, but Linong can tell that he must be very uncomfortable right now; his jeans are a darker shade of blue and his hair is slicked back with water and as much as Linong should feel guilty about being the cause of his misfortune his mind is _blank_. 

“Linong?” Xukun asks him, and it’s only then that he realizes that he had been staring, open-mouthed. “You good?” 

“Y-yeah,” he says, feeling a rush of heat in his face and neck and hoping the dimness covers it up. “Are you? You had to go out in the rain, and you’ve just gotten better, too…” 

As if on cue, Xukun sneezes, then laughs. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Now, let’s get you home.” 

They drive as quickly as Xukun dares through the rain, which is not very quickly at all. The sky might as well be pouring buckets over the car. Linong apologizes profusely for how far away he lives from campus, but Xukun waves all his attempts down. 

“Don’t, I called you over to the studio anyway,” Xukun says dismissively. He pulls up to the curb. “Is this the one?” 

Linong squints out the window, through the darkness and water. “Yeah.” He glances back at Xukun, and before he can even think _here goes_ the words come out of his mouth: “You know, do you just wanna stay here tonight? I don’t think you should drive back in this kind of weather.” 

Xukun studies him, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “This isn't so bad. I’ll drive slowly.” 

“Are you sure?” Linong stifles the slight disappointment. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Linong shakes his head quickly. “I’m sure the others won’t mind. We’ve got plenty of space.” 

Xukun seems to contemplate that briefly. In the dark, his expression is difficult to read. Then, he reaches forward and pulls the key out of the ignition. “Okay, then. I appreciate it.” 

Linong breaks into a smile, both relieved but also infinitely more nervous now that his offer has been accepted. Nevertheless, he takes the lead as he and Xukun get out of the car and sprint for the apartment building. 

When they reach Jieqiong’s apartment and Linong unlocks the door, they almost run headlong into Lin Yanjun, who is putting on a raincoat by the front door. 

“Sorry,” Linong splutters, taking a step back and almost bumping into Xukun. “Why are you going out so late?” 

Yanjun laughs sarcastically and puts his hands on his hips. “Why do you think?” 

Not for the first time that day, guilt washes over Linong like a wave. “Did you call?” 

“Three times.” Yanjun sighs. “I thought something happened, with the weather like this.”

“Sorry,” Linong apologizes again. “My phone was off.” 

Yanjun doesn’t say anything more and instead turns to Xukun. “Thanks for driving Linong.” He eyes his wet clothing. “I’m guessing you were the one to get the car.” 

Xukun laughs good-naturedly in agreement. “Linong invited me over because of the rain. I’m sorry if it’s a bit much…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Yanjun waves a hand. He makes a sweeping gesture over his head, as if measuring how tall he is. “We’re about the same height, so I can find you a change of clothes. Linong, show him where the bathroom is so he can take a shower or something.”

Linong nods mechanically and looks from Yanjun to Xukun, Xukun to Yanjun, and back again. He feels indebted to one and and a burden to the other and the courage he’d been building up on the ride back seems to have evaporated into nothing. 

* * *

Lin Yanjun’s clothes are so comfortable that Xukun’s tempted to ask if he can keep them. Except that would be weird as fuck. But there’s something about wearing the same clothes as an extremely attractive man that is very appealing and Xukun stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a little longer than usual, trying to admire himself through the thin layer of condensation on the glass. 

When he steps out of the bathroom he finds Linong one room over, tucking sheets under the corners of a small futon set up on the floor next to the bed. “You didn’t need to,” he says, for the lack of anything better to say. “I could’ve just slept on the floor.” 

“And you could also have driven home in the rain.” As if on cue, thunder claps so loudly that the room seems to tremble. “Plus, I haven’t thanked you for driving me yet.” 

Xukun snorts. “Last I checked, you thanked me plenty of times. I think the person we both need to thank is Lin Yanjun. Me, for this fine shirt. You, because he didn’t yell at you. If it were Zhou Rui worrying about me I’d have hell from him.” 

Linong laughs, but there’s an air of nervousness about him, for reasons Xukun can’t quite place. “Well, really, we _all_ need to thank Jieqiong. For letting us live here.” 

“Fair enough.” Xukun sits down on the ready-made bed, bouncing a couple of times on the futon as if testing its comfort. It would be vastly more comfortable than the floor, at least. 

An awkward silence has fallen over them, and not for the first time that night; Linong seems strangely preoccupied with tidying his own bed and it hits Xukun, suddenly, that the nervousness and awkwardness are because of _him_ . Linong doesn’t know how to act around him or in the situation and he, well, _he_ has an answer for anything that might come. 

Linong gets up to fetch him a blanket and a pillow. Xukun takes the items from him and spreads them out on the futon, but it really feels too early to be going to bed. But in the past few months he’s learned that there are, in fact, people who get ready to sleep by eleven and Chen Linong is one of them. And since it’s his room they’re sleeping in, Xukun thinks that he should just suck it up for one night and do the same. 

Linong turns out the main light in favour of a lamp that glows warm yellow. Xukun lies down on the futon and Linong climbs into bed. He hasn’t had a sleepover like this since high school, and even then the sleepovers weren’t quite so tame. But there’s a certain intrinsic tameness to Chen Linong that Cai Xukun wouldn’t trade for the world. It’s what draws Xukun to him, he thinks—a sort of impeccable stability that Linong himself seems completely unaware of. 

“What are you thinking about?” Linong asks. He looks over the edge of the bed and they make eye contact, the deep brown in Linong’s eyes seemingly glowing in the soft lighting. 

“You look like you’ve got a lot going on in there.” 

“Sorry, I was just zoning out.” It wouldn’t do, after all, to tell Chen Linong that he was thinking about _him_. “What do you think of my music?” Xukun changes the subject nonchalantly, as if the answer doesn’t mean multitudes to him. 

“I really liked it,” Linong responds earnestly. He’s still holding his gaze. “The song you were working on today, called ‘No Exceptions,’ was it? That one’s my favourite.” 

Xukun kind of likes the sound of the title on Linong’s tongue better than he did his own.  
“Yeah,” he says. “Why did you like it best?” 

Linong looks away. “I think the story is lovely,” he says, a little tentatively. 

Xukun feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards. “You like sad stories, huh?” 

“I don’t know.” Linong shifts. “It’s kind of bittersweet, I guess. There’s something really resonant about it.” Then, he buries his face in his blanket. “God, I’m spending too much time with Yanjun. I’m not normally sentimental. At all.” 

“That’s true.” Xukun laughs. “You never struck me as the type.” 

Linong pokes his head back out. “You know, you didn’t either. But your songs seem to say otherwise.” 

Xukun trains his gaze on the ceiling. “I think people are all a lot more than they seem.” 

“That’s… reasonable.”

Xukun doesn’t know what to say in response so he opts to stay silent. Normally, their silence is comfortable, like earlier in the studio or when they study together, but tonight it’s almost suffocating. He prays to any god that would listen for Linong to continue on the conversation because he is out of acceptable things to say. 

And when Linong _does_ keep talking, it’s a little bit more than he bargained for. 

“You know, I’m really glad to have met you,” he says. His voice quavers slightly and, for some reason, it sends a tingling of anticipation down Xukun’s spine. 

“Even after the party?”

He nods against his pillow. “Even after the party.” A pause. “To be honest, I enjoyed most of it. Up until the part we were drunk as hell. And afterwards, well, I was hungover and in shock. Shocked that I could enjoy something like that, I guess.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Xukun’s response seems lacking, even to him, so he adds, “I’m glad to have met you, too. You know, I didn’t have any friends in econ and probably wouldn’t have made any.” 

He is being sincere. If not for Linong’s unexpected friendship it was very likely that Xukun would have sat alone for the rest of the semester—most of the class knew of his reputation, after all. Linong, being a transfer, did not. 

“You really did help me make friends and adjust,” Linong goes on. There is some kind of tension and conviction building up in his voice, as if he is prefacing something important. Xukun has an idea what it may be and he holds his breath waiting for his next words. “Well, you and Yanjun. But there’s something I want to tell you. Just… let me know what you think, I guess.” 

_This is it._

“I like you.” 

The words are firmer than Xukun expected, nothing like the awkwardness he had been prepared for. But it doesn’t change his response nor the words he had chosen carefully ahead of time. 

“If you mean you’re interested in being _more_ than friends, I’m afraid I can’t take you up on that.” His words are a little bit stilted, as is the case with anything he rehearses, but they’ll do. He forces himself to make eye contact with Linong, who seems neither surprised nor disappointed. Only… resigned. He had foreseen this possibility just as clearly. “Not at the moment, anyway.” 

“I understand,” Linong says softly. He musters a smile and when his eyes crinkle they do so in a way that is impossibly melancholic. “I’m sorry for telling you. I think I just needed to get it off my chest.” 

Something inside Xukun is aching to correct himself, to tell Linong that _no, I like you too, but I can’t do this to you when I’m not over Zhengting_. But he doesn’t say anything. Something tells him that Linong knows—that he understands at the very least that he has wagered on timing and lost. 

* * *

Linong should have known better than to confess during a sleepover, because they both spend the rest of the night awake. He can tell by how many times Xukun turns over on the futon, and he’s sure Xukun also knows based on how many times he’s done the same on the bed. 

But he _does_ feel lighter than he has in days. Or even weeks. The mounting anticipation he had kept bottled up inside him has been released in three words, and as much as they were rejected there is something satisfying about the closure. 

Linong would be lying if he says he isn’t disappointed with the outcome, but it is not the worst case scenario—Xukun said _not at the moment_ , not _no_. 

So there is hope, or some semblance of it. He might be like a drowning man grasping at straws, but he has not drowned. 

At some point in the early morning, he finally drifts off, only to be awakened shortly afterwards by someone pressing the doorbell several times. He turns over with a grunt, only to see over the edge of his bed Xukun propping himself up on one elbow, eyes squinted against the shafts of sunlight that peeked through the blinds. His hair is artistically tousled and the sun makes his skin glow. Not unexpectedly, Linong forgets to breathe momentarily.

“‘Morning,” he says. Outside, he can hear Yanjun’s voice welcome Zhangjing into the apartment. It’s only then that he glances at the clock and realizes that it’s ten. 

“‘Morning,” Xukun replies. For a moment, it’s almost as if nothing happened the night before but then it hits Linong as he sits up. “This is a nice mattress.” 

Linong nods, a little hollowly. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Xukun yawns and stretches. Then, he turns his head slightly to look at Linong out of the corner of his eye; the movement is somehow a perfect segue into his next words. “About last night… I hope it won’t impact the arrangements we already have?” 

Sirens had already been drowning out his thoughts from the second Xukun said _last night_ , but he nods. “We can still hang out and everything, if that’s what you mean. I’m not going to avoid you just because of… _this_.” 

Xukun breathes a sigh of relief that resonates so strongly with Linong that he almost does the same. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For not giving you a firm answer.” 

“It’s fine.” Linong doesn’t know if he fears or prefers knowing _for sure_. “Take as long as you need.” 

He wants to add _I’ll wait,_ but even he knows that it’s an unrealistic thing to say.

Later, Chen Linong and Cai Xukun grab brunch together at the Banana Cafe. Bei Honglin is on shift and they make small talk. If Honglin knows anything about the two of them, he doesn’t say anything. 

Linong drinks his coffee too sweet and Xukun empties one creamer and one pack of sugar into his cup as is his custom. They get pancakes and hashbrowns and things Linong normally wouldn’t splurge on because he can just make them at home. They’re silent for a while. Then they talk, and it’s like nothing happened the night before and they’re just two friends catching up despite seeing one another daily. 

When Xukun makes a snide remark about a classmate they both despise, Linong laughs so hard that the surmising eyes on him are nothing. The world seems to narrow until only the two of them remain, and it is then that he realizes that he _will_ wait. 

* * *

_𝅘𝅥𝅮 You’re the one I’m waiting for_. 

It feels like only yesterday that a smiling boy with eyes that smiled too sat down next to him in a crowded lecture hall and asked him for notes. In reality, it was many yesterdays ago, and today Cai Xukun sits with Chen Linong under a tree in the middle of the green space on campus, passing a bubble tea back and forth between the two of them. 

Two months ago that smiling boy had told him that he liked him. In a way that was more than that of simply friends. Two months later, Cai Xukun finally thinks it might be time to take him up on it. 

“Hey, Linong,” he says. “I think I’ll release my music soon.” 

Linong sucks up several tapioca pearls from the drink, chews, then swallows, before nodding earnestly. “That’s good. You should. You also haven’t shown me anything since last semester ended.” 

They don’t have classes together anymore, but they still find themselves seeking out one another’s company on a near-daily basis. The only days they don’t see each other, at this point, are the days Xukun labors away in the studio on his songs, either alone or with Zhou Rui’s assistance. 

“Here, I’ll let you listen to the final versions before anyone else gets to.” Xukun smiles, then fishes his headphones and cell phone out of his pocket. The files are downloaded. He plugs the earbuds in and gives the right one to Linong, putting the left one in his own ear. Then, he hits play. 

He watches Linong carefully as he listens, studies every twitch of his features and the way he nods slightly to the music. He sees the corners of his mouth lift in the most reassuring smile he has ever seen when _No Exceptions_ reaches the chorus and his heart lifts with it when Linong says, “It’s beautiful.” 

Not as beautiful as the way Xukun feels impossibly comfortable in the shade, connected to Linong by a pair of headphones thrumming with his creation, their fingers just barely touching in the grass. Not as beautiful as the realization he comes to that the only shadow between them is the shadow of the tree under which they sit, and not the shadow of Xukun’s regrets, Xukun’s longing, Xukun’s grief. 

There is something impossibly beautiful in the way Chen Linong smiles. He’s known this all along, yet for some reason it’s taken him until now to truly notice. 

_𝅘𝅥𝅮 Night falls slowly_.

And the day takes its time coming, but make no mistake, it _does_ come. 

“Linong.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Hold my hand.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [maps.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384166) by [instantramen (ramenree)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenree/pseuds/instantramen)
  * [after hours.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040661) by [mifan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mifan/pseuds/mifan)




End file.
